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prencnprenr yee ed 
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Teor 


Taachge al ilo afer earn 
= ver eaten eam 














Digitized by the-Internet Archive 
in 2008 with funding from 
Microsoft Corporation 


http://www. archive.org/details/annouchkataleOOturg 








THE LIBRARIES OF 
THE UNIVERSITY 
OF CALIFORNIA 
IRVINE 


GIFT OF 
ELLENDEA PROFFER 




















ANNOUCHKA 4: 


A Zale 


BY 


IVAN SERGHEIEVITCH TURGENEF 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF THE 
AUTHOR’S OWN TRANSLATION 


BY 


FRANKLIN ABBOTT 


BOs T.ON 
CUPPLES, UPHAM AND COMPANY 
1884 


Copyright, 
BY FRANKLIN P. ABBOTT, 
1884. 





All Rights Reserved. 


Cc. J. PETERS AND SON, 
ELECTROTYPERS AND STEREOTYPERS, 
145 HIGh Srrerr. 


ANNOUCHKA. 


I. 


I was then five-and-twenty,—that was a 
sufficient indication that I had a past, said 
he, beginning. My own master for some little 
time, I resolved to travel, — not to complete my 
education, as they said at the time, but to see 
the world. I was young, light-hearted, in good 
health, free from every care, with a well-filled 
purse; I gave no thought to the future; I in- 
dulged every whim, — in fact, I lived like a flower 
that expands in the sun. The idea that man is 
but a plant, and that its flower can only live 
a short time, had not yet occurred to me. 
“ Youth,’’ says a Russian proverb, “ lives upon 
gilded gingerbread, which it ingenuously takes 
for bread ; then one day even bread fails.” But 
of what use are these digressions ? 

I travelled from place to place, with no 
definite plan, stopping where it suited me, 

I 


2 ANNOUCHKA., 


moving at once when I felt the need of seeing 
new faces, — nothing more. 

The men alone interested me; I abhorred 
remarkable monuments, celebrated collections, 
and ciceronz; the Galerie Verte of Dresden 
almost drove me mad. As to nature, it gave 
me some very keen impressions, but I did not 
care the least in the world for what is commonly 
called its beauties, — mountains, rocks, water- 
falls, which strike me with astonishment; I did 
not care to have nature impose itself upon my 
admiration or trouble my mind. In return, I 
could not live without my fellow-creatures ; their 
talk, their laughter, their movements, were for 
me objects of prime necessity. I felt super- 
latively well in the midst of a crowd; I followed 
gayly the surging of men, shouting when they 
shouted, and observing them attentively whilst 
they abandoned themselves to enthusiasm. Yes, 
the study of men was, indeed, my delight ; and 
yet is study the word? I contemplated them, 
enjoying it with an intense curiosity. 

But again I digress. 

So, then, about five-and-twenty years ago I 
was living in the small town of Z., upon the 


ANNOUCHKA. 3 


banks of the Rhine. I sought isolation: a 
young widow, whose acquaintance I made at 
a watering-place, had just inflicted upon me 
a cruel blow. Pretty and intelligent, she coquet- 
ted with every one, and with me in particular ; 
then, after some encouragement, she jilted me 
for a Bavarian lieutenant with rosy cheeks. 

This blow, to tell the truth, was not very 
serious, but I found it advisable to give myself 
up for a time to regrets and solitude, and I 
established myself at Z. 

It was not alone the situation of this small , 
town, at the foot of two lofty mountains, that 
had impressed me; it had enticed me by its old 
walls, flanked with towers, its venerable lindens, | 
the steep bridge, which crossed its limpid river, 
and chiefly by its good wine. 

After sundown (it was then the month of | 
June), charming little German girls, with yellow 
hair, came down for a walk in its narrow streets, 
greeting the strangers whom they met with a 
gracious guten abend. Some of them did not 
return until the moon had risen from behind - 
the peaked roofs of the old houses, making the 
little stones with which the streets were paved 


4 ANNOUCHKA, 


scintillate by the clearness of its motionless 
rays. Iloved then to wander in the town 
of Z.; the moon seemed to regard it steadfastly 
from the depths of a clear sky, and the town 
felt this look and remained quiet and on the 
alert, inundated by the clearness that filled the 
soul with a trouble mingled with sweetness. 
The cock at the top of the gothic steeple shone 
with a pale reflection of gold; a similar reflec- 
tion crept in little golden serpents over the dark 
depths of the river; at narrow windows, under 
slated roofs, shone the solitary lights. The 
German is economical! The vine reared its fes- 
toons mysteriously over the walls. At times 
a rustling could be heard in the obscurity near 
an old empty well upon the public square of the 
town ; the watchman replied to it by a prolonged 
whistle, and a faithful dog uttered a deep growl. 
Then a breath of air came so softly caressing 
the face, the lindens exhaled a perfume so 
sweet, that involuntarily the chest dilated more 
and more, and the name of Marguerite, half in 
exclamation, half in appeal, arose to the lips. 
The town of Z. is about a mile from the 
Rhine. I often went to admire that magnifi- 


ANNOUCHKA. 5 


cent river, and I whiled away entire hours at 
the foot of a gigantic ash, dwelling, in my 
reveries, upon many things, among others, but 
not without a certain effort, upon the image of 
my faithless widow. AQ little madonna, with 
almost infantine features, whose breast showed 
a red heart, pierced with swords, looked at me 
in a melancholy way from the midst of the 
branches. Upon the opposite side of the river, 
rose up the town of L., a little larger than that in 
which I was living. I went one evening as usual 
to take my seat upon my favorite bench ; I looked 
in turn at the water, the heavens, and the vines. 
Opposite me some tow-headed children clam- 
bered over the tarred hull of a boat that had been 
left upon the sands of the river, bottom up. 
Little boats, with sails puffed out by the breeze, 
advanced slowly; greenish waves passed before 
me, creeping along, swelling out a little, and then 
going down with a feeble murmur. Suddenly I 
thougnt I distinguished the sound of an orches- 
tra, which re-echoed in the distance. I listened; 
they were playing a waltz in the town of L. 
The double bass pealed out at intervals, the violin 
squeaked confusedly, the whistlings of the flute 


6 ANNOUCHKA, 


were quite distinct. ‘What is it?” I asked of 
an old man who was approaching me. He wore, 
after the custom of the country, a plush waist- 
coat, blue stockings, and buckled shoes. 

“They are students, who have come from B. 
for a commersch,” he replied, after shifting his 
pipe to the other side of his mouth. 

“Let us see what is a commersch,’ I said to 
myself: “besides I have not seen the town of 
L.” T hailed a boatman, and had him take me 
across the river. 


if. 


Many people, no doubt, are ignorant of what 
this word commersch means. Thus they desig- 
nate a féte to which come all the students of the 
same country or of the same society to take part 
(Landsmannschaft). Most of the young men 
who resort to these gatherings wear the tra- 
ditional costume of the German students, a 
frogged surtout, large boots, and a small cap, 
the lace of which is of the color of the country. 
The students assemble for the banquet, over 
which presides a Sentor, or the oldest of the 
band, and remain at table until morning. They 
drink ; they sing the Landesvater, the Gaudea- 
mus; they smoke; they laugh at the Philis- 
tines, and often indulge in the luxury of an 
orchestra. 

It was a gathering of this kind that was 
taking place in the garden of the hotel, with the 
sien of the So/ed/. The house and garden, 
which looked upon the street, were draped with 
flags ; the students were seated at tables under 

7 


8 ANNOUCHKA. 


the lindens; an enormous bull-dog was lying 
under one of the tables; in a corner, under a 
thicket of ivy, were seated the musicians, who 
were playing their best, imbibing quantities of 
beer to keep themselves in working order. A 
great number of curious townspeople were 
assembled in the street, before the rather high 
railing of the garden, the good citizens of the 
town of L. not wishing to let shp an occasion 
to examine closely the guests who had come 
among them. I joined the group of spectators. 
I could observe with pleasure the faces of the 
students ; their embracings, their exclamations, 
the innocent presumption of youth, their enthu- 
siastic glances, their impulsive laughter, — the 
best kind of laughter, that joyful ebullition of a 
life yet full, that impetuous flight towards no 
matter what aim, providing it was forward, that 
abandon full of thoughtlessness, touched and 
captivated me. Why should I not join them? 
I asked myself. 

“ Annouchka, have you not had enough of 
this ?”’ suddenly said in Russian a man’s voice 
behind me. “Stay a little longer,” answered a 
woman’s voice in the same language. I turned 


ANNOUCHKA. 9 


quickly, and my looks fell upon a man some 
young man in a riding-coat and cap; he had on 
his arm a young girl, very small, whose straw 
hat almost concealed her features. 

“You are a Russian?” I asked of them, with 
a start which I could not help. 

“ Yes, we are Russian,” answered the young 
man, smiling. 

fal-did not expect,’ -Isaid to~him, “ina 
foreign country to meet ” — 

‘‘Nor we either,” said he, interrupting me. 
« Allow me,” continued he, “‘ to make ourselves 
known to you; my name is Gaguine, and here 
is’’—he hesitated a moment— “here is my 
sister. And you, monsieur?” 

I in turn told him my name, and we engaged 
in conversation. I learned that Gaguine was 
travelling, like myself, for pleasure, and that, 
having arrived about a week ago at L., he had 
settled himself there for the time being. 

I must confess I do not like to become inti- 
mate with Russians in a foreign country. As 
far as I can see them, I easily recognize their 
walk, the cut of their clothes, principally the 
expression of their face. This expression, super- 


IO ANNOUCHKA, 


cilious and scornful in its nature, at times impe- 
rious, suddenly assumes a cautious and even a 
timid air. They appear seized with a kind of 
restlessness; their eyes disclose a _ strange 
anxiety: “ Seigneur! have I not said something 
foolish; are they laughing at me by chance?” 
their look seems to ask. Then one sees them 
again assume their majestic calmness, until a 
a new feeling of uneasiness comes to trouble 
them. Yes, I say it again, I avoid all intercourse 
with my fellow-countrymen; nevertheless, at 
first sight, I felt attracted towards Gaguine. 
There are in the world such happy faces that 

one takes pleasure in looking at them, they — 
reflect a warmth which attracts and does one 
good, as if one had received a caress. Such was 
Gaguine’s, with large eyes as soft as the curls of 
his hair, and a voice whose sound made you 
divine that he had a smile upon his lips. 

The young girl whom he called his sister at 
first sight appeared to me charming. There was 
an expression quite peculiar, piquant and pretty 
at times, upon her round and slightly brown 
face; her nose was small and slender, her cheeks 
chubby as a child’s, her eyes black and clear. 


ANNOUCHKA. II 


Though well proportioned, her figure had not 
yet entirely developed. Withal there was no 
resemblance to her brother. 

« Will you come home with us ?”’ said Gaguine 
to me. “It seems to me that we have looked 
long enough at these Germans. Russians by 
this time would have broken up the glasses and 
chairs; but these young fellows before us are 
too reserved. Come, Annouchka, is it not time 
to return home?” 

The young girl assented by a nod of the 
head. 

“ We live out of town,” added Gaguine, “ina 
small isolated house upon a hill, surrounded by 
vines. You shall see whether it is pretty! 
Come, our landlady has promised to make us 
some cheese-rennet. Besides the day is on the 
wane, and you will cross the Rhine more 
securely by moonlight.” 

We proceeded. A few moments after we 
passed through the low gate of the town, which 
was surrounded by an old stone wall that still 
preserved some battlements. We advanced into 
the country; after going along by the side of an 
old wall a hundred paces, we stopped before a 


12 ANNOUCHKA. 


little door; Gaguine opened it and made us 
ascend a steep path, upon the sides of which 
were rows of vines. 

The sun was just setting; a faint purple hue 
tinged the vines, the props that sustained them, 
the parched earth covered with pieces of slate, 
as well as the white walls of a little house, all 
the bright windows of which were framed in 
black bars, and towards which the footpath 
that we were climbing guided us. 

“Here is our stopping-place!”’ cried Gaguine, 
when were a little way from the house, ‘and 
there’s our landlady, too, bringing us some milk. 
Guten abend, madam,” cried he. “We are 
going to have our frugal repast at once; but 
first,” said he, “look about you and tell me what 
you think of the view.” 

The site that he showed me was, indeed, 
admirable. At our feet the silvery waters of the 
Rhine, illumined by the purple of the setting 
sun, flowed between the verdant banks. The 
town, peacefully placed on the river banks, dis- 
played to our eyes all its houses and all its 
streets; the hills and fields stretched out about 
it. 


ANNOUCHKA. 13 


If that which was at our feet was beautiful, 
more lovely still was the sight above our heads. 
One was struck by the depth and clearness of 
the heavens, the transparency and brilliancy of 
theatmosphere. Clearand light, the undulations 
of the breeze moved softly about us; that also 
seemed to take delight in the heights. 

“You have chosen an admirable place to live 
in,” I said to Gaguine. 

“Tt is Annouchka who found it out,” he re- 
plied to me. “Come, Annouchka, give your 
orders. Have them bring everything here; we 
will sup in the open air, that we may hear the 
music better. Have you noticed,” added he, 
turning to me. “that such music as a waltz near 
at hand seems detestable; heard at a distance, 
charms and makes all the poetic chords of your 
heart vibrate.” 

Annouchka directed her steps towards the 
house, and soon returned accompanied by the 
landlady. They brought an enormous dish of 
milk, spoons, plates, sugar, fruits, and bread. 
We seated ourselves and began to eat. An- 
nouchka took off her hat; her black hair, cut 
short, fell in large curls over her ears and her 


14 ANNOUCHKA, 


neck. My presence appeared to embarrass her; 
but Gaguine said to her, “don’t be shy; he 
will not bite you.” 

These words made her smile, and a few 
moments after she spoke to me without the 
least embarrassment. She did not remain quiet 
a moment. Hardly was she seated than she 
arose, ran towards the house, and reappeared 
again, singing in a low voice ; often she laughed, 
and her laugh had something strange about it — 
one would say that it was not provoked by any- 
thing that was said, but by some thoughts that 
were passing through her mind. Her large 
eyes looked one in the face openly, with bold- 
ness, but at times she half closed her eyelids, 
and her looks became suddenly deep and 
caressing. | 

We chatted for about two hours. It was 
some time since the sun had gone down, and 
the evening light, at first resplendent with fire, 
then calm and red, later on confused and dim, 
mingled little by little with the shades of night. 
Yet our conversation still went on. Gaguine 
had a bottle of Rhine wine brought; we drank 
it slowly. The music had not stopped, but the 


ANNOUCHKA, 15 


sounds that the wind brought us seemed sweeter. 
In the town and upon the river lights began to 
spring up. Annouchka sudddenly lowered her 
head, her curly hair fell over her brow, then she 
became silent and sighed. In a few moments 
she told us that she was sleepy and went into 
the house. I followed her with my eyes, and 
saw her sitting a long time motionless in the 
shadow behind the closed window. At last 
the moon appeared on the horizon, and its rays 
made the waters of the Rhine scintillate softly. 
Everything before us suddenly changed ; bright- 
ness, then darkness, sprang up in every direc- 
tion, and the wine, even in our glasses, assumed 
a mysterious appearance. There was no longer 
any wind; it ceased suddenly, like a bird that 
folds its wings; a delicate and warm perfume 
arose from the ground. 

“It is time to go!” I exclaimed, “ otherwise 
I shall not find a boatman.” 

“Yes, it is time,” replied Gaguine. We took 
the path that came down the mountain. Sud- 
denly we heard some pebbles rolling behind us; 
it was Annouchka, who was coming to rejoin 
us. 


16 ANNOUCHKA. 


“You dia not go to bed then?” said her 
brother. 

She did not reply, but ran down before us. 
Some of the lamps that the students had to 
light up the garden still threw a dying glimmer, 
which lighted up the foliage of the trees, at the 
foot of which they burnt, and gave to them a 
solemn and fantastic appearance. We found 
Annouchka upon the bank; she was talking 
with the boatman. I jumped into the boat and 
took leave of my new friends. Gaguine promised 
me a visit the next day. I gave him my hand, 
which he pressed; I offered the other to An- 
nouchka, but she contented herself by looking 
at me and nodding her head. The boat was set 
loose from the bank, and the current carried it 
along with rapidity. The boatman, a robust old 
man, plunged his oars energetically into the dark 
waters of the river. 

“You are going into the reflection of the 
moon,” cried Annouchka; “you have broken 
i 

I looked upon the river, its dim shadows 
crowded about the boat. 

“ Adieu,” she said once more. 


ANNOUCHKA. 17 


“To-morrow, then,” added Gaguine. 

The boat reached the shore; I jumped out 
of it and looked behind me, but I no longer 
saw any one on the other bank. The reflec- 
tion of the moon spread out again, like a bridge 
of gold, from one bank of the river to the 
other. 

The last chords of a waltz of Lanner’s could 
be heard, as if bidding me a farewell. Gaguine 
was right; these far-away sounds moved me 
strangely. 

I regained the house through the fields, 
shrouded ina profound obscurity, inhaling slowly 
the balmy air; and when I had re-entered my 
little room, I felt troubled to the bottom of my 
soul by the confused expectation of an undefined 
happiness. What do I say? I was already 
happy; why? I could not have told what I 
wanted, nor of what I was thinking, and yet I 
was happy. 

At the time this superabundance of strange 
and delicious sensations almost made me laugh; 
I quickly went to bed, and just as I was closing 
my eyes I suddenly remembered that I had not 
thought the whole evening of my faithless one.— 


18 ANNOUCHKA, 


What does this mean, I asked myself; is it that 
I am no longer in love? But that question 
remained unanswered, and I slept like a child in 
its cradle. 


III. 


THE next morning, being awake, but not yet 
up, I heard the sound of a walking-stick echo- 
ing under my window, and a voice that I recog- 
nized as that of Gaguine, pouring forth the 
following song :— 

‘* Si je trouve encor dans les bras du sommeil, 
Je viens te reveiller au bruit de ma guitare.” ! 

I hastened to open the door to him. 

“Good-morning,” said he, entering, “I disturb 
you very early, but the weather is so fine. See 
what a delicious freshness, the dew, the singing 
of the larks ’’>— 

And, indeed, he, with his rosy cheeks, his 
curly hair, and his half-bare neck, had all the 
freshness of morning. 

I dressed myself ; we went into my little gar- 
den and took a seat upon a bench ; they brought 
our coffee there, and we began to talk. 

Gaguine told of some of his future plans ; 
having a fine fortune and dependent upon no 

? Verse from Romance of Glinker. 
19 


20 ANNOUCHKA. 


one, he wished to devote himself to painting, and 
regretted only that he had taken it up so late, 
he had lost so much valuable time. I in turn 
confided to him the plans that I had formed, and 
took advantage of the opportunity to make him 
the confidant of my unhappy love affair. He 
listened patiently, but I could see that the suffer- 
ings of my heart had but little interest for him. 
After having listened to my story for politeness’ 
sake, with two or three sighs, he proposed that 
we should go and see his sketches. I imme- 
diately consented. We started. Annouchka 
was not at home. The landlady informed us 
that she must be at the ruins. They so called 
the remains of an old feudal castle, which was 
- situated a mile or so from the town. Gaguine 
opened all his portfolios. I found that his 
sketches had much life and truth, something 
broad and bold; but none were finished, and 
the drawing appeared to me incorrect and care- 
less. 

I frankly expressed my opinion. 

“Ves, yes,’ he replied, sighing, ‘‘ you are 
right; all that is bad, and it is not matured by 
reflection. WhatamI todo? I have not worked 


ANNOUCHKA. 21 


enough; our cursed Slavic indolence always 
ends in getting the better of me! Whilst the 
work is still but an idea, like an eagle soaring 
in the air, we believe ourselves able to move 
the world; then at the moment of execution 
come weaknesses, and then — weariness.” 

I offered him some words of encouragement, 
but he interrupted me with a wave of the hand, | 
picked up his sketches, and threw them in a 
heap upon the sofa. 

“Tf perseverance does not fail me, I shall 
succeed,” said he, between his teeth; “ other- 
wise, I shall vegetate as a country squire, never 
amounting to anything. 

“Let us go and look for Annouchka!” 


IV. 

THE road that led to the ruins ran along 
the side of a narrow and wooded dell. At 
the bottom a rapid stream rushed noisily over 
the stones, as if in a hurry to lose itself in the 
great river, which was seen in the distance 
behind the dark rampart of steep mountains. 
Gaguine called my attention to several very 
harmonious effects of color, and his words 
revealed to me, if not a painter of talent, at 
least a true artist. The ruin was soon before - 
us. It was at the top of a barren rock, a square 
tower, entirely blackened, quite intact, but 
nearly split from top to bottom by a deep crack. 
Walls covered with moss were attached to the 
tower. Ivy clung here and there; stunted 
shrubbery sprang out of grayish embrasures 
and caved-in vaults; a stony path led to an 
entrance door standing upright. We were 
not far from it when a woman’s figure ap- 
peared suddenly before us, leaped lightly upon 


a heap of rubbish, and stood erect upon the 
22 


ANNOUCHKA, 23 


projection of a wall at the edge of a preci- 
pice. 

“T am not mistaken!” exclaimed Gaguine; 
“it is Annouchka. How foolish of her!” 

We passed through the door, and found our- 
selves in a small court almost entirely filled with 
nettles and wild apple trees. It was, indeed, 
Annouchka, sitting upon the projection of the 
wall. She turned her head towards us and 
began to laugh, not moving from her place; 
Gaguine shook his finger at her, and raising my 
voice, I reproached her for her imprudence. 

“Be quiet,’ Gaguine said, in my ear; “let 
her do it; you have no idea of what she is 
capable when provoked ; she would climb to the 
top of the tower. Admire rather the indus- 
trious spirit of the people of the country.” 

I turned and saw in a corner a booth of 
boards, on the floor of which was squatting an 
old woman knitting stockings, looking at us 
from under her spectacles. She had for sale 
beer, cakes, and seltzer water, for the use of 
tourists. 

We seated ourselves upon a bench and began 
to drink foamy beer from heavy tin goblets. 


24 ANNOUCHKA, 


Annouchka still remained seated in the same 
place, her feet curled under her, her head en- 
veloped in her muslin scarf; her charming 
profile outlined clearly against the blue sky; 
but I looked at her with some irritation. I 
believed the evening before that her manners 
were affected and unnatural. She wishes to 
astonish us, I thought ; but why? what a child- 
ish whim. You would say that she had divined 
my thought, for, throwing upon me a quick pene- 
trating glance, she began to laugh, descended 
from the wall in two jumps, then, approaching 
the old woman, she asked her for a glass of 
water. 

“ You think I wish to drink?” she said to her 
brother; ‘no, I wish to water the flowers upon 
the wall yonder that are dying and dried up by 
the sun.” 

Gaguine did not reply; she left us, her glass 
in her hand, and climbed once more upon the 
ruins. Stopping at intervals she stooped and 
poured out with a comic gravity some drops 
of water that sparkled in the sun. Her move- 
ments were very graceful; but I still watched 
her with disapproval, admiring, however, her 


ANNOUCHKA. 25 


nimbleness and activity. Coming to a danger- 
ous place she purposely alarmed us by giving a 
little cry and then began to laugh. That was 
the finishing stroke to my impatience. 

“She is a regular goat,” muttered the old 
woman, who had stopped working. 

Having emptied the last drop of water from 
her glass, Annouchka at length arose to rejoin 
us, approaching with a defiant manner. A 
strange smile for a moment contracted her lips 
and her eyebrows and dilated her nostrils; she 
half closed her black eyes with a provoking air 
of mockery. 

“You think my conduct unbecoming,” her 
face seemed to say; “‘no matter, I know that 
you admire me.” 

“ Perfect! charming! Annouchka,” said Ga- 
guine. 

Suddenly the young girl appeared to feel a 
sense of shame, and lowering her eyes, she came 
and sat by us like a culprit. For the first time 
I examined her features closely; and I have 
rarely seen more mobile ones. A few moments 
had scarcely elapsed before her face lost all color 
and took an expression approaching almost to 


26 ANNOUCHKA., 


sadness ; it even seemed to me that her features 
assumed grandeur, artlessness. She appeared 
entirely absorbed. 

We explored the ruins minutely. Annouchka 
kept behind us, and we began to admire the 
view. When the dinner hour arrived, Gaguine 
paid the old woman, and asked from her a last 
jug of beer; then turning to me, he said with a 
shy smile: — 

“To the lady of your thoughts!” 

“He has then—you have then a lady of 
whom you think?” asked Annouchka. 

“ And who has not?” replied Gaguine. 

Annouchka remained thoughtful for some 
moments, the expression of her face changed 
again, and a smile of defiance, almost impudent, 
appeared once more upon her lips. 

We again took our way to the house, and An- 
nouchka again began to laugh and frolic with 
more affectation than before. Breaking a branch 
from a tree, she shouldered it like a gun, and 
rolled her scarf about her head. I remember 
that we then met a large family of English 
people, with light hair, looking awkward ; all, 
as if obeying a word of command, threw upon 


ANNOUCHKA. 27 


Announchka their blue eyes, in which was de- 
picted a cold look of astonishment; she began 
to sing in a loud voice, as if to defy them. 
When we arrived, she immediately went to 
her room, and did not reappear until dinner, 
decked out in her finest dress, her hair dressed 
with care, wearing a tight-fitting bodice, and 
gloves on her hands. At table she sat with 
dignity, scarcely tasted anything, and drank 
only water. It was evident she wished to play 
a new role in my presence: that of a young 
person, modest and well-bred. Gaguine did not 
restrain her; you could see that it was his 
custom to contradict her in nothing. From 
time to time he contented himself with looking 
at me, faintly shrugging his shoulders, and his 
kindly eye seemed to say: “She is but a child ; 
be indulgent.” Immediately after dinner she 
rose, bowed to us, and, putting on her hat, 
asked of Gaguine if she could go and see Dame 
Louise. 

“ How long have you been in need of my per- 
mission ?” he replied, with his usual smile, which 
this time, however, was slightly constrained; 
“you are tired of us, then?” 


28 ANNOUCHKA. 


“No; but yesterday I promised Dame Louise 
to go and see her; besides, I think you would 
be more at your ease without me. Monsieur,” 
she added, turning to me, “ you will—you will 
perhaps, have some more confidences.” 

She left us. 

“Dame Louise,” said Gaguine, trying to 
avoid my look, “is the widow of the old burgo- 
master of the town. She is rather a plain, but 
an excellent old woman. She has a great liking 
for Annouchka, who, moreover, has a mania for 
becoming intimate with people below her; a 
mania that, as far as I can observe, almost 
always springs from pride.” 

“Vou see,” added he, after a moment’s silence, 
“that I treat Annouchka like a spoiled child, 
and it could not be otherwise; I could not be 
exacting towards any body, how much less to- 
wards her?” 

I did not reply. Gaguine began to talk upon 
another subject. The more I learned to know 
him the more he inspired me with affection. I 
soon summed up his character; it was a fine, 
good Russian nature, straightforward, upright, 
and unaffected, but unfortunately wanting in 


ANNOUCHKA. 29 


energy and earnestness. His youth did not 
give forth passion and ardor, but shone with a 
sweet and dim light. He had wit and charming 
manners, but how difficult to conjecture what 
would become of him when he became a man! 
An artist —no! Every art calls for hard work, 
unceasing efforts; and never, I said to myself, 
in looking at his calm features, listening to his 
languid voice, never could he bind himself to 
constant and well-directed work. And yet it 
was impossible not to like him; one became 
attached to him involuntarily. We passed 
nearly four hours together, sometimes side by 
side upon the sofa, sometimes walking slowly 
before the house, and our talk ended by uniting 
us. The sun went down, and I was thinking 
about going home. 

Annouchka had not yet returned. 

“Ah, what a wayward child!” exclaimed 
Gaguine. ‘“ Wait, I will see you home; would 
you not like to have me? As we go we will 
stop at Dame Louise’s and see if she is yet 
there; it will not be much out of the way.” 

We descended into the town, and after fol- 
lowing for a short time a narrow and winding 


30 ANNOUCHKA., 


street, we stopped before a high, four-storied 
house, with but two windows in front; the 
second story projected over the street more 
than the first, and in the same manner the 
other two. This strange habitation, with its 
Gothic arches, placed upon two enormous posts 
and topped with a pointed tiled roof, and a 
dormer window, surmounted by an iron crane 
extended in the form of a beak, had the effect 
of an enormous bird meditating. 

« Annouchka, are you there?” cried Gaguine. 

A lighted window opened in the third story, 
and we perceived the brown head of the young 
girl. Behind her appeared the toothless face 
of an old German woman, her eyes weak with 
age. 

“Here I am,” said Annouchka, leaning co- 
quettishly on the window-sill. ‘“I like it very 
well. Wait, take this,” added she, throwing to 
Gaguine a slip of geranium. ‘“ Imagine to your- 
self that I am the lady of your thoughts.” 

Dame Louise began to laugh. 


’ 


“He is going away,” replied Gaguine; “he 
wishes to bid you farewell.” 


“Really?” said Annouchka. ‘ Well, then, as 


ANNOUCHKA, 31 


he is going, give him the flower. I will come 
home very soon.” 

She quickly closed the window, and I thought 
I saw her embrace the old German. Gaguine 
offered me the flower in silence. Without say- 
ing a word I put it in my pocket, and returning 
to the place where they cross the river, I passed 
over to the other side. I recollect walking to- 
wards my house with a singularly sad _ heart, 
though thinking of nothing, when a perfume 
well known to me, but rare enough in Germany, 
attracted my attention. I stopped, and saw near 
the road a plot of ground sown with hemp. 
The perfume that this plant of the steppes gave 
out suddenly transported me to Russia, and 
brought forth in my soul a passionate enthu- 
siasm towards my country; I conceived the 
ardent desire of breathing my native air, and 
feeling again under my feet the soil of my 
fatherland. “What am I doing here?” I ex- 
claimed ; “ What interest have I in wandering 
in a strange land, among people who are nothing 
to me?” and the oppression that filled my heart 
soon gave way to an emotion violent and full of 
bitterness. 


32 ANNOUCHKA, 


I re-entered my house in a state of mind 
the opposite to that of the night before; I felt 
almost vexed, and was long in calming myself. 
I felt a deep vexation, for which I could not 
account. I ended by sitting down, and recalling 
my faithless widow (she came to my recollection 
officially every evening) ; I took one of her let- 
ters, but did not open it, for my thoughts took 
wing to the other side of the river. I began to 
dream, and Annouchka was the subject. I 
recalled that in the course of our conversation ; 
Gaguine gave me to understand that certain 
circumstances prevented him from returning to 
Russia. —‘“‘ Who knows, indeed, if she is his 


sister,” I asked myself aloud. 

I laid down and tried to sleep, but an hour 
after I was still leaning on my elbow, and think- 
ing again of that capricious little girl with a 
forced laugh. She has the figure of La Ga- 
lathée of Raphael of the Farnese palace, I 
murmured. — It is well that —and she is not his 
sister. During this time the widow’s letter re- 
posed quietly upon the floor, lighted up by a 
pale ray of the moon. 


V. 


THE next morning I returned to L. I per- 
suaded myself that I should take the greatest 
pleasure in seeing Gaguine, but the fact is that 
I was secretly impelled by the desire of knowing 
how Annouchka would behave, —if she would 
act as strangely as the night before. I found 
them both in the parlor ; and a singular thing, — 
but perhaps because I had been dreaming so 
long of Russia, — Annouchka seemed to me en- 
tirely Russian. I found in her the air of a 
young girl of the people, almost that of one of 
the servants. She wore quite an old dress, her 
hair was drawn back behind her ears, and, 
seated near the window, she was quietly working 
at her embroidery, as if she had never done any- 
thing else in her life. Her eyes fixed upon her 
work, she scarcely spoke, and her features had 
an expression so dull, so commonplace, that I 
was involuntarily reminded of Machaand Katia! 


‘ Diminutives of Mary and Catherine. 
33 


34 ANNOUCHKA. 


at home. To complete the resemblance she 
began to hum the air, — 


O, ma mére, ma douce Colombe! } 


While observing her face, the dreams of the 
night before came back to mind, and without 
knowing why, I felt an oppression in my heart. 
The weather was magnificent. 

Gaguine told us he intended to go out to 
sketch. I asked permission to accompany him 
if it would not trouble him. 

“On the contrary,” he said, “ you can give 
me some good advice.” 

He put on his blouse, donned his round Van 
Dyck hat, took his portfolio under his arm, and 
started out. I followed him. Annouchka re- 
mained at home. On leaving, Gaguine begged 
her to see that the soup was not made too thin. 
She promised to keep her eye on the kitchen. 

Leading me into the valley, with which I was 
already familiar, Gaguine seated himself upon a 
stone, and began to draw an old tufted oak. 

I stretched myself upon the grass and took 
a book, but read two pages of it at the most. 


1 National Russian air. 


ANNOUCHKA. 35 


Gaguine, on his side, made but a poor daub. In 
return we did not fail to discuss very fully, and, 
in my opinion, not without judgment and just- 
ness, the best method to follow to work with 
profit, the dangers to avoid, the end to be aimed 
at, and the mission of the true artist in the age 
in which we live. Gaguine ended by declaring 
that to-day he did not feel sufficiently in spirits, 
and came and stretched himself at my side. 
Then we gave ourselves up to the irresistible 
temptation of one of those conversations so 
dear to youth, conversations sometimes enthu- 
siastic, sometimes pensive and melancholy, but 
always sincere and always vague, in which we 
Russians love so much to indulge. After hav- 
ing talked to satiety, we took the road to the 
town, very well satisfied with ourselves, as if 
we had just accomplished a difficult task, or 
brought a great enterprise to a good end. We 
found Annouchka exactly as we left her. I 
observed her with the utmost attention; I could 
discover in her neither the slightest shade of 
coquetry, or indication denoting a studied part ; 
it was impossible this time to find in her any 
vestiges of oddity. 


36 ANNOUCHKA. 


“Decidedly,” said Gaguine, “she is fasting 
and doing penance.” 

Towards evening she yawned two or three 
times without the least affectation, and went to 
bed early. I took leave of Gaguine soon after, 
and, going home, I did not allow myself to 
dream. The day came to an end without my 
mind suffering the least trouble, only it seemed 
to me, as I lay down, that I said involuntarily 
aloud, — 

“Oh! that little girl—she is, indeed, an 
enigma. And yet,” added I, after a moment’s 
reflection, “‘and yet she is not his sister!” 


VI. 


A FoRTNIGHT elapsed after these events. I 
went every day to make Gaguine a visit. An- 
nouchka seemed to shun me, and no longer 
indulged in those head-shakings that had 
annoyed me so much in the first days of our 
acquaintance. She seemed to conceal a grief 
or a secret trouble; she laughed more rarely. 
I continued to observe her with curiosity. 

French and German were quite familiar to 
her, but a number of things made me divine 
that she had been without a woman’s care in 
her infancy, that she had received a strange, 
desultory education, quite different from that of 
Gaguine. In him, in spite of his blouse and 
Van Dyck hat, you quickly discovered the Rus- 
sian gentleman, nonchalant and slightly effemi- 
nate; she in no wise resembled a noble lady. 
All her movements implied a kind of restless- 
ness; she was a seedling newly grafted, a wine 
that yet fermented. Naturally timid and dis- 
trustful of herself, she was vexed at feeling 

37 


38 ANNOUCHKA. 


gauche, and sought in spite of it to give herself 
an unconstrained and bold manner, but not 
always with success, Several times I led the 
conversation to her past, and her way of living 
in Russia; I saw that she replied with a bad 
grace to my questions, All that I could learn 
was that at the time she left Russia she was 
living in the country. One day I found her 
alone and reading; her head leaning on her 
hands, her fingers thrust in her hair, she was 
devouring the book before her with her eyes. 

“Bravo! I cried, approaching. ‘ What, a 
love of study?” 

She raised her head, and, looking at me with 
a serious and dignified air, “‘ You thought, then, 
I could do nothing but laugh?” she said, and 
she rose to leave. 

I glanced at the title of the book; it was a 
bad French novel. . 

“You might have made a better choice,” I 
said to her. 

“What must I read, then?” she cried, and, 
throwing her book upon the table, she added: 
“Then, in that case, I am going to amuse my- 
self.” And she ran towards the garden. 


ANNOUCHKA. 39 


The same day, in the evening, I read to Ga- 
guine Herrman and Dorothea. As I began to 
read, Annouchka went to and fro incessantly, 
then suddenly she stopped, listened, seated 
herself quietly beside me, and gave me her 
attention to the end. 

The next day I was again surprised in no 
longer seeing the old Annouchka. I began to 
comprehend that she had suddenly taken into 
her head to be a housewife, wrapped up in her 
duties, like Dorothea. Finally her character 
seemed inexplicable to me. In spite of the 
excessive amour propre that I found in her, I 
felt attracted towards her, even when she made 
me angry. One thing, at least, appeared cer- 
tain, and that was that she was not the sister of 
Gaguine. I did not find in him towards her the 
conduct of a brother; on her side too much 
respect and compliance, too little constraint. 

A strange circumstance seemed, according to 
all appearances, to strengthen my suspicions. 
One evening, approaching the hedge which sur- 
rounded Gaguine’s house, I found the gate 
closed. Without stopping at this obstacle I 
reached a place where, some days before, I had 


40 ANNOUCHKA. 


noticed that a part of the hedge was destroyed, 
and I jumped into the enclosure ; some distance 
from there, a few steps from the path, there was 
a little arbor of acacias; scarcely had I passed 
it than I distinguished the voice of Annouchka, 
who cried out with fervor, weeping, — 

“No, I shall never love any one but you ; no, 
no, it is you alone whom I wish to love, and 
forever!” 

“Come, calm yourself,” replied Gaguine, 
“you know very well that I believe you.” 
Their voices left the arbor. I could see them 
through the thin foliage ; they did not observe 
me. 

“You, you only,” she repeated ; and, throw- 
ing herself on his neck, she clung to him with 
convulsive sobs, covering him with kisses. 

“Calm yourself, calm yourself,” he kept re- 
peating, passing his hand over the hair of the 
young girl. 

I remained quiet for some moments, then I. 
came to my senses. — Should I approach them ? 
“No, not for the world,” I immediately said. 

I quickly regained the hedge, and, passing it 
at a stride, I again took the road to my house, 


ANNOUCHKA. 41 


running. I smiled, I rubbed my hands, I won- 
dered at the chance that had unexpectedly 
confirmed my suppositions; the least doubt 
seemed no longer possible, and at the same 
time I felt in my heart an intense bitterness. 

f i'must confess,’ I said to myself, “that 
they can dissimulate well! But what is their 
object ? And I—why should they make me 
their dupe? I should not expect such a thing 
from him. Then, what a melodramatic scene!” 


VII. 


I passeD a bad night. Rising early in the 
morning, I threw over my shoulders my travel- 
ling bag, warned my landlady that I would not 
return during the day, and walked by the side 
of the mountains, along the river, upon the 
borders of which was situated the little town 
of L. These mountains, whose chain bears 
the name of Huzdsriich (Dog’s Back) are of a 
very curious formation; especially noticeable 
were columns of basalt very regular and of 
great purity of shape, but at the moment I 
hardly thought of making any geological ob- 
servations. I could not account for the way 
I felt, only I was conscious that I no longer 7 
wished to persuade even myself that the only 
cause of the sudden estrangement with which 
they inspired me was my chagrin at being de- 
ceived by them. Nothing obliged them to give 
themselves out as — brother and sister. Finally 
I tried to banish the remembrance of them 
from my mind. 

42 


ANNOUCHKA. 43 


I wandered at leisure over mountains and 
valleys; I made some long stops in the village 
inns; engaging in a quiet conversation with 
the landlord and travellers, or else, lying down 
upon a flat stone, warmed by the sun, I looked 
at the clouds floating by. Happily for me the 
weather was beautiful. It was thus I occupied 
my leisure for three days, and I found in doing 
so a certain charm, though at times I felt de- 
pressed. The state of my mind was in perfect 
accord with the tranquil nature of these regions. 

I abandoned myself entirely to chance, to 
all the impressions that happened to strike 
me. They followed each other slowly and 
left in the depths of my soul a general sen- 
sation, in which mingled harmoniously all that 
I had seen, felt, and heard for the last three 
days; yes, everything, without exception, the 
penetrating odor of rosin in the woods, the cries 
and the tappings of the woodpecker, the in- 
cessant rushing of the clear streams, with 
speckled trout playing on the sandy bottom, 
the undulating outlines of the mountains, the 
towering rocks; the neat little villages, with 
their respectable old churches; the storks in 


44 ANNOUCHKA, 


the meadows, the pretty mills with clattering 
wheels, the stout figures of the countrymen 
with their blue waistcoats and gray stockings, 
the lumbering carts drawn slowly by heavy 
horses and sometimes by cows, young travel- 
lers, with long hair, walking in groups on the 
smooth streets, bordered with pear and apple 
trees. 

I still find a charm in the remembrance of 
these impressions. 

Hail to you! humble corner of German soil, _ 
abode of a modest comfort, where one meets at 
every step traces of a diligent hand, of a work 
slow, but full of perseverance, to you my vows 
and my reverence! 

I returned home only on the evening of the 
third day. I have forgotten to say that, in my 
chagrin against Annouchka, I attempted to re- 
vive in my thoughts the image of my stony- 
hearted widow, but had my labor for my pains. 
I remember that as soon as I recalled her, I 
found myself face to face with a little girl of 
about five years of age, with a round and inno- 
cent face, with eyes animated with a naive 
curiosity. She looked at me with such a 


ANNOUCHKA. 45 


candid expression that I felt quite ashamed 
before her glance; it was distasteful for me 
to lie even to myself in her presence, and my 
old idol disappeared from my remembrance 
forever. 

Arriving home, I found a letter from Gaguine ; 
he spoke of the astonishment that my sudden 
disappearance had caused him ; reproached me 
for not having taken him for a companion, and 
begged me to come and see him as soon as I 
returned. 

This letter caused me a painful impression ; 
nevertheless, I started for L. the next day. 


VIII. 


GAGUINE gave me a friendly greeting, and 
loaded me with affectionate reproaches. As to 
Anncuchka, as if she did it on purpose, as soon 
as she saw me, she burst out laughing without 
the slightest cause, and immediately fled, as 
usual. Gaguine appeared embarrassed, stam- 
mered out that she was foolish, and begged 
me toexcuse her. I confess that, being already 
displeased, I was so much the more wounded by 
this forced merriment and strange affectation. 
I feigned, however, to attach no importance to 
it, and related to Gaguine the details of my 
little excursion. On his side, he informed me — 
of what he had done during my absence ; never- 
theless the conversation languished, while An- 
nouchka kept coming in and out of the room. 
I brought this to an end by pretending un- 
avoidable work, and manifested my intention 
of leaving. Gaguine attempted at first to de- 
tain me; then, bestowing a searching glance 
at me, offered to accompany me. In the outer 

46 


ANNOUCHKA. 47 


room Annouchka came up suddenly and offered 
me her hand. I just touched the ends of her 
fingers and scarcely bowed. 

I crossed the Rhine with Gaguine, and when 
we were near the ash of the little Madonna we 
seated ourselves upon the bench to admire the 
view. Then we entered into a conversation I 
shall never forget. 

We at first exchanged some commonplaces, 
then there was a silence. We fixed our eyes 
upon the transparent waters of the river. 

“T should like to know what you think of 
Annouchka,” said Gaguine suddenly, with his 
usual smile. ‘Does she not appear somewhat 
fantastic?” 

“Ves,” I replied, much surprised at the ques- 
tion, as I hardly expected him to venture upon 
such ground. 

“That comes from not knowing her; thus 
you cannot judge her well,” said he. ‘She has 
an excellent heart, but a very bad head. You 
must bear a great deal from her! You would 
not reproach her if you knew her history.” 

“Her history?” I exclaimed; ‘“‘is she not then 


your ’— 


48 ANNOUCHKA. 


Gaguine stopped me with a look. 

“You are not going to imagine that she is 
not my sister?” he replied, without paying any 
attention to my embarrassment. ‘Yes, she is 
indeed the daughter of my father. Give me 
your attention. I have confidence in you and 
am going to tell you everything. 

“My father was an excellent man, having 
intelligence and a cultivated mind, but whose 
life was nevertheless very sad. It was not that 
he was more ill-used by fortune than any one 
else, but he had not the strength to bear a first 
misfortune. While still young he had made a 
love marriage; his wife, who was my mother, — 
did not live long; I was only six months old 
when she died. My father then took me into 
the country, and for twelve years did not put 
foot outside of his domain. He himself began 
my education, and would never have separated 
himself from me if his brother, my paternal 
uncle, had not come to see him on his estate. 
This uncle lived at Petersburg, and he held an 
important position there. He succeeded in per- 
suading my father to confide me to his care, so 
that he would never need to leave his estate; 


ANNOUCHKA. 49 


he represented to him that isolation was injuri- 
ous to a boy already grown, and who in the 
hands of a preceptor as sad and stern as my 
father would be far behind children of my own 
age, and that even my character would suffer. 

“‘My father resisted his attempts for a long 
time, but finally yielded. I cried on being 
separated from him, for I loved him, though I 
had never seen a smile upon his lips. Arrived 
at Petersburg, I soon forgot the sad, dark place 
where my infancy was passed. I entered the 
military school, then a regiment of the Guard. 
I went every year to pass some weeks in the 
country. Each time I found my father more 
morose, more reserved and pensive, until at 
times he became fierce. He went every day to 
church, and almost entirely lost the habit of 
talking. 

“During one of these visits (I was about 
twenty years of age) I perceived for the first 
time a slight girl with black eyes, about twelve 
years old; it was Annouchka. My father told 
me she was an orphan whom he took care of, 
and I paid but little attention to this child, 
wild, silent, and active as a young fallow deer. 


50 ANNOUCHKA, 


When I entered my father’s favorite room, the 
vast chamber where my mother died, and so 
dark that they kept it lighted in broad day, 
Annouchka hid herself behind a large arm-chair 
or the bookcase. It happened that for three or 
four days after this last visit I was prevented 
by my duties from returning to my father’s, but 
every month I received a few lines from his 
hand, in which he rarely spoke of Annouchka, 
and always without going into any details of the 
subject. He was already over fifty, but appeared 
still a young man. You may imagine the shock 
when I suddenly received a letter from our 


steward, in which he announced to me that my — 


father was dangerously ill, and implored me to 
come as soon as possible if I wished to see him 
before he died. : 

“T started immediately, and travelled with the 
greatest speed, and found my father still living, 
but just about to breathe his last. He was 
delighted to see me again, and clasped me in his 
emaciated arms, fastening his glance upon me, 
which appeared at once to fathom my thoughts 
and to address me a mute prayer, and making 
me promise to fulfil his last wish, he ordered his 
old valet to bring Annouchka into his room. 





ANNOUCHKA, SI 


“The old man led her in; she could hardly 
stand, trembling all over. 

“« Now,’ said my father with an effort, ‘I con- 
fide to your care my daughter, your sister; 
Iskof will relate everything to you,’ he added, 
designating his old servant. 

“ Annouchka began to sob and fell upon the 
bed, hiding her face. Half an hour after, my 
father expired. 

“This is what I learned: Annouchka was the 
daughter of my father and of an old waiting 
maid of my mother, named Tatiana. I recollect 
Tatiana very well. She was tall, with large, 
dark eyes, noble, severe, and intelligent features, 
and passed for a proud girl, rather unapproacha- 
ble. As far as I could understand by the simple 
story with respectful omissions that Iskof re- 
lated, my father did not notice Tatiana until 
several years after the death of my mother. At 
that time Tatiana no longer lived in the manor- 
house, but with one of her married sisters, 
charged with looking after the courtyard. My 
father had taken a fancy to her, and when I left 
the country he even thought of marrying her, 
but she resisted all his entreaties. ‘The dead 


52 ANNOUCHKA. 


Tatiana Vlassievna,’ said Iskof, standing rever- 
entially near the door, his hands behind his 
back, ‘was a person of great good judgment; 
she did not wish to bring prejudice against your 
father,’ — “I become your wife, mistress here, 
you can’t think of it?’ she cried, thus address- 


) 


ing your father in my presence.” Inflexible upon 
this point, Tatiana would not even change her 
abode; she continued to live at her sister’s with 
Annouchka. When I was a child I often re- 
member having seen Tatiana on féte-days at 
church. A dark handkerchief on her head, a 
yellow shawl thrown over her shoulder, she 
stood with the other villagers near a window. 
Her stern profile stood out clearly against the 
panes, and she prayed with modest gravity, bow- 
ing profoundly after the custom of the old time, 
and touching the earth with the end of her 
fingers before touching it with her forehead. 

“ At the time my uncle took me away, little 
Annouchka was only two years old; she was 
nine when she lost her mother. After the death 
of Tatiana, my father took the child to his own 
house. Already he had several times expressed 
a wish to do so, but Tatiana was always opposed 


ANNOUCHKA. 53 


to it. You may imagine what Annouchka must 
have felt when she found herself established in 
the house of him they called “the master.” 
Even to the present time she preserves the 
remembrance of the day when for the first time 
she put on a silk dress, and they made her kiss 
his hand. Her mother had brought her up 
with severity ; my father did not place the least 
restraint upon her. He charged himself with 
her education ; she had no other master. He 
did not spoil her, or load her with useless tasks. 
He loved her ardently; he could refuse her 
nothing. Annouchka soon learned that she 
was the principal personage of the house; she 
knew that the master was her father; even 
then she had a feeling of her false position, and 
an amour propre unhealthful and full of mistrust 
sprang up in her. Some bad habits took root ; 
her zaiveté disappeared; she wished, she con- 
fided to me later, to force the whole world to 
forget her origin. At times she blushed at it ; 
then, ashamed at her blushes, she showed that 
she was proud of her mother. You see that she 
knew, and knows still, a great many things 
which she should have been ignorant of at her 


54 ANNOUCHKA, 


age; but whose fault was it? The passion of 
youth burst forth impetuously, and there was 
no friendly hand to direct her. It is so diffi- 
cult to make good use of such entire indepen- 
dence. So, not wishing to be behind other 
nobles’ daughters, she devoted herself to read- 
ing ; but what profit could she derive from it? 
Her life, begun in a false way, remained so, but 
her heart kept pure. 

“At this time I was but twenty years of age, 
and charged with the care of a young girl of 
thirteen. For the first few days after my 
father’s death the sound of my voice was suffi- 
cient to throw her into a fever. My caresses 
caused her agony; it was but gradually and 
almost insensibly that she became accustomed 
to me. It is true that later, when she saw that 
I was thoughtful of her, and loved her as a 
sister, she became ardently attached to me; 
she could feel nothing half way. 

“T took her to Petersburg, and though hard 
for me to leave her, it not being in my power 
to keep her near me, I placed her in one of the 
best boarding-schools of the city. Annouchka 
understood the necessity of this separation, but 


ANNOUCHKA. 55 


she fell ill and nearly died. Later she became 
‘accustomed to this kind of life. She remained 
at boarding-school four years, and, contrary to 
my expectation, she came out nearly the same 
as she went in. The mistress of the boarding- 
school often complained of her. ‘‘ Punishments 
have no effect upon her,” she told me, “and 
marks of affection find her equally insensible.” 
Annouchka was very intelligent; she studied 
hard, and in this respect led all her companions ; 
but nothing could make her comply with the 
ordinary rules,—she remained obstinate, and 
with an unsociable humor. Ido not blame her 
entirely ; she was in a position where there 
were but two ways of acting open to her,—a 
complacent servility or a proud shyness, Among 
all her schoolmates, she was intimate with but 
one, a young girl, quite plain, poor, and perse- 
cuted. The other scholars of the boarding- 
school, most of them of the aristocracy, did not 
like her, and pursued her with their sarcasms. 
Annouchka kept aloof from them in every way, 
One day the priest charged with their religious 
instruction spoke of the faults of youth; An- 
nouchka said aloud: ‘There are no greater 


56 ANNOUCHKA. 


faults than flattery and meanness.” In a word, 
her character did not change, only her manners 
improved, although there was still much to be 
desired. 

«So she reached her seventeenth year. My 
position was quite embarrassing; but a happy 
thought suddenly occurred to me: it was to 
leave the service, pass three or four years in a 
strange country and take my sister with me. 
As soon as I conceived this resolution I put it 
in execution, and that is why you find us both 
upon the banks of the Rhine, I attempting to 
paint, and she doing anything she wishes, ac- 
cording to her fancy. Now I hope that you 
will not judge her too severely, for I warn you 
that Annouchka, though pretending to care 
nothing about it, is very sensitive to the opin- 
ion that others have of her, and to yours above 
all.” 

As he said these last words, Gaguine smiled 
with his usual calmness. I pressed his hand 
with warmth. 

“All this is nothing,” he replied, “but I 
tremble for her in the future. She has one of 
the most inflammable natures. Up to the pres- 


ANNOUCHKA, 57 


ent time no one has pleased her; but if she 
ever loves, who can tell what may result from 
it? I do not at times know how to behave 
towards her. Imagine those days when she 
wished to prove to me that I was cool towards 
her, whilst she loved only me, and would never 
love another man! and while saying this she 
would weep bitterly. 

“Tt is for this reason then ?—” I began to 
say, but I immediately stopped myself. 

«Since we are in the chapter of confidences,” 
I replied, “allow me one question. Is it true 
that no one has pleased her up to the present 
time? Yet at Petersburg she must have seen 
a great many young people?” 

“They were all to the highest degree dis- 
pleasing to her. You see, Annouchka was 
seeking for a hero, an extraordinary man, or 
some handsome shepherd living in a mountain 
cave. But it is time for me to stop; I detain 
you,” added he, rising. 

“No,” I said to him, “let us rather go to 
your house. I don’t wish to go into the house.” 

“And your work?” he asked of me. 

I did not reply to him. Gaguine kindly 


58 ANNOUCHKA, 


smiled, and we returned to L. In again seeing 
the vineyard and the white house on the moun- 
tain, I felt a peculiarly sweet emotion that pene- 
trated my soul; it was as if balm had been 
poured into my heart. 

Gaguine’s story relieved me greatly. 


IX. 


ANNOUCHKA came to meet us at the thresh- 
old of the door. I was expecting a fresh burst 
of laughter, but she approached us pale, silent, 
her eyes cast down. 

“T have brought him back,” said Gaguine, 
“and it is well to add that he wished to come 
himself.” 

She looked at me with a questioning air. I 
put my hand out to her this time, and pressed 
with fervor her cold and trembling fingers. I 
felt a profound pity for her. I understood, in- 
deed, the sides of her character which had 
appeared inexplicable to me. That agitation 
one saw in her, that desire of putting herself 
forward, joined with the fear of appearing ridi- 
culous, was quite clear to me now. 

A weighty secret oppressed her constantly, 
her inexperienced amour propre came forward 
and receded incessantly, but her whole being 
sought the truth. I understood what attracted 
me towards this strange young girl: it was not 

59 


60 ANNOUCHKA. 


only the half-savage charm bestowed upon her 
lovely and graceful young figure, it was also her 
soul that captivated me. Gaguine began to 
rummage over his portfolios ; I proposed to An- 
nouchka to accompany me into the vineyard. 
She immediately consented, with a gay and 
almost submissive air. We went half way down 
the mountain, and seated ourselves upon a 
stone. 

“And you were not dull without us?” she 
asked me. 

“ You were then dull without me?” I replied 
Lo her. 

Annouchka looked at me slyly. 

“Yes!” she said, and almost immediately 
began, — 

“The mountains must be very beautiful. 
They are high, higher than the clouds. Tell 
me what you saw. You have already told my 
brother, but I have not heard.” 

“But you did not care to hear, since you 
went out.” 

“T went out because,—you see very well 
that I don’t go out now,” added she in a tender 
tone ; “but this morning you were angry.” 


ANNOUCHKA. 61 


“T was angry ?”’ 

aces |” 

“Come now, why should I have been ?” 

“IT don’t know; but you were angry, and 
went away in the same mood. I was very sorry 
to see you go away so, and I am glad to see you 
come back.” 

“And I am very glad to be back,” I an- 
swered. 

Annouchka shrugged her shoulders, as chil- 
dren do when they are pleased. “Oh! I know 
it,” she replied. ‘I used to know by the way 
in which my father coughed whether he was 
pleased with me or not.” 

It was the first time that she had spoken of 
her father ; it surprised me. 

“ You loved your father very much?” I asked 
her ; and suddenly, to my great disgust, I felt 
that I blushed. 

She did not answer, and blushed also. 

We kept silent for some time. In the dis- 
tance the smoke of a steamboat rose up on the 
Khine ; we followed it with our eyes. 

“And your story,” she said to me in a low 
voice. 


62 ANNOUCHKA. 


“Why did you sometimes begin to laugh 
when you saw me ?”’ I asked her. 

“JT don’t know. Sometimes I feel like weep- 
ing, and I begin to laugh. You must not judge 
of me by the way I act. Apropos, what is that 
legend about the fairy Lorelei? This is her rock 
that one sees here. They say that formerly she 
drowned everybody, until, falling in love, she 
threw herself into the Rhine. I like the story. 
Dame Louise knows a great many of them; 
she tells them all to me. Dame Louise has a 
black cat with yellow eyes.” 

Annouchka raised her head and shook her 
curls. 

“ Ah! how happy I am,” she said. At that 
moment low, monotonous sounds began to be 
heard at intervals, — hundreds of voices, chant- 
ing in chorus, with cadenced interruptions, a re- 
ligious song. A long procession appeared on 
the road below us, with crosses and banners. 

“« Suppose we join them,” Annouchka said to 
me, listening to the chants that came to us 
growing fainter and fainter by degrees. 

“ You are then very religious ?” 


“One should go to some place very far away 


ANNOUCHKA. 63 


for devotion, or to accomplish a perilous work !” 
she added. ‘Otherwise the days slip by — life 
passes uselessly.” 

“You are ambitious,” I said to her. ‘“ You 
do not wish to end your life without leaving 
behind some traces of your existence?” 

“Ts it then impossible?” — 

“Tmpossible!” I was going to answer ; but I 
looked at the eyes that shone with ardor, and 
confined myself to saying, “Try!” 

“Tell me,” after a moment’s silence, during 
which indescribable shades passed over her 
countenance, which again had become pale. 
“Then that lady pleases you very much? 
You know, the one whose health my brother 
drank at the ruins the day after you met us?” 

I began to laugh. 

“Your brother but jested; no woman was in 
my mind, or at least is there now.” 

“ And what is it that you like about women ?”’ 
she asked, turning her head with a childlike 
curiosity. 

“What a singular question!” I cried. 

Annouchka was immediately troubled. 

*‘T should n’t have asked you such a question, 


64 ANNOUCHKA. 


should I? Forgive me; I am accustomed to 
say whatever comes into my head. That is 
why I am afraid to speak.” 

“Speak, I beg you! Fear nothing, I am so 
delighted at seeing you less wild.” 

Annouchka lowered her eyes, and for the 
first time I heard a sweet low laugh come 
from her lips. 

“Come, tell me about your trip,” she said, 
arranging the folds of her dress over her knees, 
as if to install herself there for a long time; 
“begin or recite something to me, that which 
you read from Onéguine.” } 

She suddenly became pensive, and murmured 
in a low voice, — 


** Ou sont aujourd’hui la croix et l’ombrage 
Qui marquaient la tombe de ma pauvre mére.” 


“That ’s not exactly the way that Pouchkina * 
expressed himself,” I said. 

“T should like to be Tatiana,” ? continued 
she, still pensive. ‘Come, speak,’ she said 
with vivacity. 

? Poem of Pouchkina. 


2 Instead of ‘‘ mere,” the Russian text says ‘‘ nourrice.” 
® Heroine of the poem. 


ANNOUCHKA. 65 


But that was far from my thoughts. I looked 
at her; inundated by the warm light of the 
sun, she seemed to me so calm, so serene. — 
About us, at our feet, above our heads, the 
country, the river, the heavens,—dall were 
radiant; the air seemed to me quite saturated 
with splendor. 

“See, how beautiful it is,” I said, lowering 
my voice involuntarily. 

“Oh, yes, very beautiful,” she replied in the 
same tone, without looking at me. “If you and 
I were birds, how we would dart forth into 
space — into all that infinite blue! But we are 
not birds.” 

“Yes, but we can bring forth wings,” 

“ How’s that ?” 

“Life will teach you. There are many feel- 
ings that will raise you above this earth; never 
fear, the wings will come to you.” 

“Have you had any?” 

“What shall I say? I don’t think that I 
have taken wing so far.” 

Annouchka became thoughtful once more. 
I was leaning over her. 


“Can you waltz?” she said to me suddenly. 


66 ANNOUCHKA. 


“Yes,” I replied, a little surprised at the 
question. 

“ Then come quickly ; come. I am going to 
beg my brother to play us a waltz. We will 
pretend that the wings have appeared, and that 
we are flying into space.” 

She ran towards the house. I quickly fol- 
lowed her, and a few moments had _ hardly 
elapsed before we were whirling about the nar- 
row room, to the sounds of a waltz of Lanner’s. 
Annouchka danced with much grace and anima- 
tion. Ido not know what womanly charm sud- 
denly appeared upon her girlish face. Long 
afterwards the charm of her slender figure still 
lingered about my hand ; for a long time I felt 
her quick breathing near me, and I dreamed of 
her dark eyes, motionless and half closed, with 
her face animated, though pale, about which 
waved the curls of her sweet hair. 


X. 


NotuinG could have been more delightful 
than that day. We amused ourselves like chil- 
dren. Annouchka was pleasing and _ artless. 
Gaguine regarded her with pleasure. I left 
them a little later. When I reached the middle 
ot the Rhine I begged the boatman to let his 
boat drift down the river. The old man rested 
on his oars, and the majestic river carried us 
along. I looked about me, listened, and dreamed. 
Suddenly I felt a weight at my heart. Aston- 
ished, I raised my eyes to the heavens, but found 
no quiet there. Studded with stars, the entire 
heavens seemed to be moving, palpitating, 
trembling ; I leaned towards the river, but down 
there in those cold and dark depths, there, too, 
were the stars trembling and moving. Every- 
thing appeared incited by a restless agitation, 
and my own trouble only increased it. I leaned 
upon the edge of the boat. The sighing of the 
wind in my ears, the rippling of the water, 


which made a wake behind the stern, irritated 
67 


68 ANNOUCHKA. 


me, and the cold air from over the water did not 
refresh me, A nightingale began to sing near 
the river bank, and the sweetness of the melo- 
dious voice ran through me like a delicious and 
burning poison. But they were not tears from 
an excitement without cause; what I felt was 
not the confused emotion of vague desires, — it 
was not that effervescence of the soul which 
wished to clasp everything in its embrace, be- 
cause it could understand and love everything 
that exists; no, the thirst for happiness was 
kindled in me. I did not yet venture to put it 
into words — but happiness, happiness to satie- 
ty —that was what I wished, what I longed for. 
Meanwhile, the boat kept on down the stream, 
and the old boatman dozed on his oars. 


XI. 


WHILE going the next morning to Gaguine’s, 
I did not ask myself if I was in love with An- 
nouchka, but did not cease to dream of her, to 
ponder on her fate; I rejoiced in our unforeseen 
reconciliation. I felt that I had not understood 
her until the previous evening ; up to that time 
she was an enigma. Now, at length, she was 
revealed to me; in what an entrancing light was 
her image enshrouded, how new she was to me, 
and what did she not promise! 

I followed deliberately the road that I had 
gone over so many times, glancing at every step 
at the little white house that was seen in the 
distance. I thought not of the far-off future; I 
did not even give a thought to the next day; I 
was happy. 

When I entered the room Annouchka blushed. 
I noticed that she had again dressed herself 
with care, but by the expression of her face she 
was not entirely at her ease, and I —I was happy. 
I even thought I noticed a movement to run 


69 


70 ANNOUCHKA. 


away, as usual, but, making an effort, she re- 
mained. Gaguine was in that particular state 
of excitement which, like a fit of madness, sud- 
denly takes hold of the dz/etfant7, when they 
imagine that they have caught Nature in the act 
and can hold her. 

He was standing, quite dishevelled and cov- 
ered with paint, before his canvas, bestowing 
upon it, right and left, great strokes of his brush. 

He greeted me with a nod that had something 
quite fierce about it, going back a few steps, 
half closing his eyes, then again dashing at his 
picture. I did not disturb him, but went and 
sat by Annouchka. Her dark eyes turned 
slowly towards me. 

“You are not the same to-day as you were 
yesterday,” I said, after vainly trying to smile. 

“Tt is true, I am not the same,” she replied 
in a slow and dull voice; “but that’s nothing. 
I have not slept well. I was thinking all night 
long.” 

‘Upon what?” 

«“ Ah, mon Dieu, upon a great many things. 
It is a habit of my childhood, of the time that I 
still lived with my mother.” 


ANNOUCHKA. 71 


She spoke this last word with an effort, but 
repeated it again : — 

“When I lived with my mother I often asked 
myself why no one knew what would happen to 
them, and why, when foreseeing a misfortune, 
one cannot avoid it. And why also can one not 
tell the whole truth. I was thinking moreover 
last night that I ought to study, that I know 
nothing; I need a new education. I have been 
badly brought up. I have neither learned to 
draw nor to play upon the piano; I hardly know 
how to sew. I have no talent, people must be 
very much bored with me.” 

“Vou are unjust to yourself,” I replied to 
her; “you have read a great deal, and with 
your intelligence ””— 

“ And I am intelligent?” she asked, with such 
a curious naive air that I could hardly keep 
from laughing. 

“Am I intelligent, brother?”’ she asked of 
Gaguine. 

He did not reply, but kept on painting assidu- 
ously, changing his brush over and over again, 
and raising his hand very high at every stroke. 

“Really at times I have no idea what I have 


72 ANNOUCHKA, 


in my head,” replied Annouchka, still thought- 
ful. ‘Sometimes, I assure you, I am afraid of 
myself. Ah! I would like— Is it true that 
women should not read a great many things?” 

“A great many things are not necessary, 
but ’— 

“Tell me what I should read, what I should 
do. I will follow your advice in everything,” 
added she, turning towards me with a burst of 
confidence. 

I could not think immediately of what I ought 
to tell her. 

“Come, would you not be afraid that I should 
weary you?” 

“What a strange idea!” 

“Well, thanks for that,” said she, “I was 
afraid that you might be wearied in my society,” 
and with her small burning hand clasped mine. 

“T say! N ,’ cried Gaguine at this mo- 





ment, “‘is not this tone too dark ?” 
I approached him, and the young girl rose 
and left the room, 


XII. 


SHE reappeared in about an hour at the door, 
and beckoned me to her. 

“Listen,” said she; “if I should die, would 
you be sorry?” 

“What singular ideas you have to-day,” I 
exclaimed. 

“T don’t think that I shall live long; it often 
seems to me that everything about me is bid- 
ding me good-by. It is better to die than to 
live as— Ah! don’t look at me so; I assure 
you that I’m not pretending; otherwise, I shall 
begin again to be afraid of you.” 

“Were you afraid of me then?” 

“Tf I am queer, you must not reproach me. 
See, already I can no longer laugh.” 

She remained sad and preoccupied until the 
end of the evening. I could not understand 
what had come over her. Her eyes often rested 
upon me; my heart was oppressed under her 
enigmatic look. She appeared calm; _ never- 
theless, in looking at her, I could not keep 

73 


74 ANNOUCHKA, 


from saying something to lessen her trouble. I 
contemplated her with emotion; I found a 
touching charm in the pallor spread over her 
features, in the timidity of her indecisive move- 
ments. She all the while imagined that I was 
in a bad humor. 

“Listen,” she said to me before I left, “I 
fear that you do not take me seriously. In 
future believe all that I tell you; but you, in 
your turn, be frank with me; be sure that I 
shall never tell you anything but the truth, — 
I give you my word of honor!” 

This expression, “word of honor,’ made me 
smile once more. 

“Ah! don’t laugh,” said she vivaciously, 
“or I shall repeat what you told me yesterday, 
‘Why do you laugh?’ Do you remember,’- 
added she, after a moment’s silence, ‘that 
yesterday you spoke to me of wings? These 
wings have sprung forth. I don’t know where 
to fly.” 

“Come, then,” I replied, “all roads are open 
to you.” 

She looked at me earnestly for some mo- 
ments. 


ANNOUCHKA, 75 


“You have a bad opinion of me to-day,” she 
said, frowning slightly. 

“T! a bad opinion of you?” 

“Why are you standing there, with those 
dismal faces ?” asked Gaguine at that moment. 
“Do you wish me to play a waltz for you, as I 
did yesterday ?”’ 

“No, no,” cried she, clasping her hands; 
“not for the world to-day!” 

“Don’t excite yourself; I don’t wish to force 
you.” 

“Not for the world,” repeated she, growing 
pale. 

“Does she love me?” I thought, as I ap- 
proached the Rhine, whose dark waters rushed 
rapidly along. 


»GE88 


“Dors she love me?” I asked myself the 
next morning on awakening. I feared to ques- 
tion myself more. I felt that her image—the 
image of the young girl with the “‘ 7zve forcé” — 
was engraved on my mind, and that I could not 
easily efface it. I returned to L., and remained 
there the entire day, but I only caught a glimpse 
of Annouchka. She was indisposed; she had 
a headache. She only came down for a few 
moments, a handkerchief wrapped about her 
forehead. Pale and unsteady, with her eyes 
half closed, she smiled a little, and said, — 

“Tt will pass away; it is nothing. Every- 
thing passes away, doesn’t it?” and she went — 
out. 

I felt wearied, moved by a sensation of empti- 
ness and sadness, and yet I could not decide to 
go away. Later on I went home without hay- 
ing seen her again. . 

I passed all the next morning in a kind of 
moral somnolence. I tried to lose myself by 

76 


ANNOUCHKA. V7 


working; impossible, I could do nothing. I 
tried to force myself to think of nothing; that 
succeeded no better. I wandered about the 
town; I re-entered the house, then came out 


again. 





2?” said sud- 


denly behind me the voice of a little boy. 


“Are you not Monsieur N 


I turned about, —a child had accosted me. 

“From Mademoiselle Anna.” 

And he handed me a letter. 

I opened it and recognized her handwriting, 
hasty and indistinct : — 

“T must see you. Meet me to-day at four 
o'clock in the stone chapel, on the road that 
leads to the ruins.—I have been very impru- 
dent. Come, for heaven’s sake! You shall 
know everything. Say to the bearer, Yes.” 

“Ts there any answer?” asked the little boy. 

«Say to the young lady, Yes,’ I replied. And 
he ran away. 


XIV. 


I wenT back to my room, and, sitting down, 
began to reflect. My heart beat quickly. I 
read Annouchka’s letter over several times. 
I looked at my watch; it was not yet noon. 

The door opened and Gaguine entered. He 
looked gloomy. He took my hand and pressed 
it fervently. You could see that he was under 
the influence of a deep emotion. 

“What has happened?” I asked him. Ga- 
guine took a chair, and seated himself by my 
side. 

“Three days ago,” he said to me, with an 
uneasy smile and a constrained voice, “I told 
you some things that surprised you; to-day I © 
am going to astonish you still more. To 
another than you, I would not speak so 
frankly ; but you are a man of honor, and a 
friend, I hope; then listen. My sister An- 
nouchka loves you.” 

I started, and rose quickly. 


“Your sister, you tell me—?” 
78 


ANNOUCHKA. 79 


“Yes,” he replied bruskly, “I said so. It is 
foolish ; she will drive me mad. Fortunately, 
she cannot lie, and confides everything to me. 
Ah! what a heart that child has; but she will 
surely ruin herself!” 

« You are certainly in error,” I exclaimed, in- 
terrupting him. 

“No, I am not mistaken. Yesterday she 
remained in bed the entire day without taking 
anything. It is true she did not complain ; but 
she never does complain. I felt no uneasiness, 
but towards evening she had a little fever. 
About two in the morning our landlady came 
and awoke me. 

“Go and see your sister,’ she said to me; ‘I 
think she is ill.’ 

“T ran to Annouchka’s room, and found her 
still dressed, consumed with fever, in tears ; her 
head was on fire ; her teeth chattered. 

«What is the matter with you ?’ I asked. 

«She threw herself upon my neck and begged 
me to take her away, if I valued her life. 
Without being able to understand anything, I 
tried to calm her; her sobs redoubled, and, 
suddenly, in the depth of her grief, she con- 


80 ANNOUCHKA. 


fessed to me, —in a word, I learned that she 
loves you. — There! You and I are grown 
men, governed by reason. Well! we will never 
understand how deep are the sentiments that 
Annouchka feels, and with what violence they 
manifest themselves; it is something at once 
unforeseen and irresistible, like the bursting of 
a storm. You are, without doubt, a very at- 
tractive man,’ continued Gaguine, “but yet, 
how have you inspired such a violent passion? 
I cannot conceive of it, I confess it! She pre- 
tends that, as soon as she saw you, she was 
attracted towards you. That is why she wept 
so much of late in assuring me that she would 
never love any one in the world but me. She 
thinks that you look down upon her, knowing 
probably her origin. She asked me if I had 
told you her story. I told her No, as you may 
imagine, but her penetration frightens me. 
She had but one thought, that was to go 
away, and quickly. I stayed with her until 
morning. She made me promise that we 
should start to-morrow, and only then was 
she quieted. After mature reflection, I de- 
cided to come and confer with you upon the 


ANNOUCHKA. 81 


subject. In my opinion, my sister is right; 
the best thing is to leave, and I should have 
taken her away to-day if an idea had not oc- 
curred to me, and stopped me. Who knows? 
Perhaps my sister pleases you; if so, why then 
should we part? So I decided, and putting 
aside my pride, relying upon some observations 
that I had made — yes —I decided to come — 
to come and ask you” — 

Here Gaguine, disconcerted, stopped short. 

“ Pray excuse me — pardon — I am not accus- 
tomed to interviews of this kind.” 

I took his hand. 

“You wish to know if your sister pleases 
me!’ I said to him firmly. ‘She does please 
mie!” 

Gaguine fixed his eyes upon me. “ But, in 
short,” replied he, hesitating, — “ would you 
marry her?” 

“How can I answer that question. I make 
you the judge of it.— Can I do it now?” 

“T know it, I know it,” cried Gaguine; “no, 
I have no right to expect an answer from you, 
and the question that I have asked you is 
unconventional in every particular, but force 


82 ANNOUCHKA. 


of circumstances compelled me to do so. It is 
not safe to play with fire! You don’t under- 
stand what Annouchka is. She may fall ill, or 
run away, or even — or even give you a rendez- 
vous. Another would know how to conceal her 
feelings and wait, but she cannot. It is her 
first experience, that’s the worst of it! If you 
could have seen to-day the way in which she 
sobbed at my feet, you would share my fears.” 

I began to reflect. The words of Gaguine, 
“ Give you a rendezvous,” oppressed my heart. 
It seemed shameful to me not to answer his 
honest frankness by a loyal confession. 

“Yes!” I at length said to him, “you are. 
right. I received, about an hour ago, a letter 
from your sister; there it is.’ He took it, ran 
through it rapidly, and again let his hands fall 
upon his knees. The astonishment that his 
features expressed would have been laughable, 
if I could have laughed at that moment. 

‘You are a man of honor,” he said. “Iam 
not the less embarrassed to know what to do. 
How! She asks me to fly, and in this letter 
she reproaches herself for her imprudence! But 
when, then, did she have the time to write to 


ANNOUCHKA. 83 


you? and what are her intentions in regard to 
you ?”’ 

I reassured him, and we applied ourselves, 
with as much coolness as was possible, to dis- 
cuss what we should do. This is the plan 
which we finally determined upon to prevent 
all unhappiness. It was agreed that I should 
go to the rendezvous and speak plainly with 
Annouchka. Gaguine promised to remain at 
home, without showing that he had read the 
letter; and it was decided, moreover, that we 
should meet in the evening. | 

“T have full confidence in you,” he said, 
pressing my hand; “have consideration for her 
and for me; but, nevertheless, we will leave to- 
morrow,” added he, rising, ‘since it is settled 
that you will not marry her.” 

“Give me until this evening,” I replied. 

“So be it! you will not marry her!” 

He took his departure; I threw myself upon 
the divan and closed my eyes. I was dazed ; 
too many thoughts at once crowded into my 
brain. I was angry with Gaguine for his frank- 
ness; I was angry with Annouchka: her love 
filled me with joy—and yet I was afraid of it. 


84 ANNOUCHKA. 


I could not account for her having made a 
full confession to her brother. That which 
above all caused me great pain was the abso- 
lute necessity of making a sudden and almost 
instantaneous decision. 

“ Marry a girl of seventeen, with a disposition 
like that ; it is impossible!” I cried, rising. 


XV. 


At the hour agreed upon I crossed the 
Rhine, and the first person I met on the bank 
was the same little boy who had found me in 
the morning. He seemed to be waiting for me. 
“From Mademoiselle Anna,” he said to me, in 
a low voice, and he gave me another note. 

Annouchka announced to me that she had 
changed the place of the rendezvous. She told 
me to meet her in an hour and a half—not at 
the chapel, but at Dame Louise’s; I was to 
knock at the door, enter, and go up three 
flights. 

“Again Yes ?” asked the little boy. 

“Yes,” I replied, and walked along the river 
bank. I had not time enough to return to my 
house, and did not wish to wander about the 
streets. 

Behind the walls of the town stretched a 
little garden, with a bowling-alley covered with 
a roof, and some tables for beer-drinkers. I 
entered it. 

85 


86 ANNOUCHKA. 


Several middle-aged Germans were bowling; 
the balls rolled noisily along; exclamations 
could be heard from time to time. A pretty 
little waiting-maid, her eyes swollen from cry- 
ing, brought me a jug of beer; I looked her 
in the face, she turned away bruskly and with- 
drew. 

“Yes, yes!” muttered a stout German with 
very red cheeks, who was seated near me; “our 
Hannchen is in great distress to-day ; her sweet- 
heart is drawn in the conscription.” I looked 
at her at this moment; retiring into a corner, 
she was resting her cheek upon her hand, and 
great tears slowly rolled between her fingers. 
Some one asked for beer; she brought him a 
jug, and went back to her place. This grief 
reacted upon me, and I began to think of my 
rendezvous with sadness and uneasiness. 

It was not with a light heart that I was 
going to this interview. I must not give myself 
up to the joys of a reciprocal love. Must keep 
to my word, fulfil a difficult duty. “J/¢ zs not 
safe to play with fire.’ This expression, which 
Gaguine had used in speaking of his sister, 
pierced me like a sharp arrow to the bottom of 


ANNOUCHKA. 87 


my soul. Yet three days before, in that boat 
carried along by the stream, was I not tor- 
mented by a thirst for happiness? Now I could 
satisfy it, and I hesitated. I thrust back this 
happiness; it was my duty to do so; the un- 
foreseen something which it presented fright- 
ened me. Annouchka herself, with her impul- 
sive nature, her education, this girl strange and 
full of fascination, I confess it, frightened me. 

I struggled a long time with these feelings. 
The moment fixed upon approached. “I can 
not marry her,” at last I said to myself; “she 
will not know that I have loved her.” 

I arose, put a thaler into poor Hannchen’s 
hand (she did not even thank me), and pro- 
ceeded towards the house of Dame Louise. 

The shades of night were already in the air, 
and above the dark street stretched a narrow 
band of sky, reddened by the setting sun. I 
gently tapped at the door; it was immediately 
opened. 

I crossed the threshold and found myself in 
complete darkness. 

““This way,” said a cracked voice, “you are 
expected.” 


88 ANNOUCHKA, 


I groped along in the dark a few steps; a bony 
hand seized mine. 

“Is it you, Dame Louise ?”’ I asked. 

‘“‘Ves!” answered the same voice, “it is J, 
my fine young man.” 

The old woman took me up a very steep stair- 
case, and stopped upon the landing of the third 
story. I recognized then, by the faint glimmer 
from a little garret window, the wrinkled face 
of the burgomaster’s widow. A sly and mawk- 
ish smile half opened her toothless mouth, and 
made her dull eyes glitter. She pointed out a 
door. I opened it with a convulsive movement, 
and slammed it after me. 


XVI. 


Tue little room in which I found myself was 
quite dark, and it was some moments before I 
saw Annouchka. She was seated near the 
window, enveloped in a large shawl, her head 
turned away and almost concealed, like a 
startled bird. I felt a deep pity for her. I 
approached; she turned away her head still 
more. 

“Anna Nicolaévna!” I said to her. She 
turned quickly and tried to fasten her look upon 
mine, but had not the strength. I took her 
hand ; it was like a dead person’s, motionless 
and cold in mine. 

“ T would like,” said she, attempting to smile, 
but her pale lips would not allow of it; “I 
would like—no, impossible,’ she murmured. 
She was silent ; indeed, her voice grew fainter 
at every word. 

I sat down by her. 

“Anna Nicolaévna!” I said again, and, in 
my turn, I could say nothing more. There was 

89 


90 ANNOUCHKA. 


a long silence. Retaining her hand in mine, I 
gazed at her. Sinking down, she breathed 
quickly, biting her lower lip, in order to keep 
back the tears which were ready to flow. I 
continued to gaze at her; there was in her 
motionless and timorous attitude an expression 
of weakness deeply touching. It was as if she 
had fallen crushed upon the chair and could not 
stir. My heart was filled. with pity. 

“ Annouchka!”’ I said in a low voice. She 
slowly raised her eyes to mine. O the look of 
a woman whose heart has just opened to love! 
how find words to describe it ?— They beseech, 
those eyes! they question, they give themselves 
up.—I could not resist them —a subtle fire ran 
through my veins. I bent over her head and 
covered it with kisses. — Suddenly my ear was 
struck by a trembling sound like a stifled 
sob. I felt a hand which trembled like a leaf 
pass over my hair. I raised my head and saw 
her face. — What a sudden transfiguration had 
come over it!—Fright had disappeared ; her 
eyes had a far-away look that seemed to ask 
mine to join with them; her lips were slightly 
apart; her forehead was as pale as marble, 


ANNOUCHKA. Ol 


whilst her curls floated behind her head, as if a a 
breath of air had blown them back! 

I forgot everything. I drew her towards me. 
She offered no resistance. Her shawl slipped 
from her shoulders, her head fell and rested 
gently upon my breast, under the kisses of my 
burning lips. 

“Tam yours!” she murmured feebly. 

Suddenly the thought of Gaguine flashed 
across me. 

“What are we doing?” I cried, pushing her 
from me convulsively. ‘ Your brother knows 
everything ; he knows that we are here to- 
gether!” 

Annouchka fell back upon the chair. 

“Yes,” I said, rising and going away from 
her, “ your brother knows everything! I was 
forced to tell him all.” 

iiorced:?”’\shey stammered. She seemed 
hardly to understand me. 

“Yes, yes,’ I repeated harshly, “and it is 
your fault, — yours, yours alone! What reason 
had you to give up your secret? Were you 
forced to tell your brother everything? He 
came to me this morning and repeated all you 
had told him.” 


92 ANNOUCHKA, 


I tried not to look any more at her, and 
paced the room. 

“Now,” I replied, “all is lost, —“allaiece 
lutely all.” 

Annouchka attempted to rise. 

“Stay!” I cried. ‘Stay, I beseech you; fear 
nothing, you have to do with a man of honor! 
But, for heaven’s sake, speak! What has 
frightened you? Have I changed towards 
you? As to myself, when your brother came 
to me yesterday, I could not do otherwise than 
tell him what our relations were.” 

“Why tell her all that ?” I thought to myself, 
and the idea that I was a cowardly deceiver, | 
that Gaguine was aware of our rendezvous, that 
all was disclosed —lost beyond redemption — 
immediately crossed my mind. 

“T did not send for my brother last night,” 
she said, with a choking voice, “he came of 
himself.” 

“But do you see what this has led to? 
Now you wish to go away.” 

“Yes, I must go,” she said, in a very low 
voice. “IT besought you to come here to say 


farewell.” 


ANNOUCHKA, 93 


“ And you think, perhaps, that to part from 
you costs me nothing?” 

“But why was it necessary to confide in my 
brother?” replied Annouchka ina stupefied tone. 

“T repeat to you, I could not do otherwise. 
If you had not betrayed yourself”? — 

“T was shut up in my room,” she replied 
naively. “I did not know that the landlady 
had another key.” 

This innocent excuse at the moment put me 
in a rage; and now I cannot think of it without 
deep emotion. Poor child, what an upright and 
frank soul! 

So all is at an end,’ I replied once more ; 
“at an end —; and we must part.” 

I looked at her furtively. The color mounted 
to her face ; shame and terror—I felt it only 
too keenly — seized her. On my side, I walked 
to and fro, speaking as if in delirium. 

“There was in my heart,” I continued, “a 
feeling just springing up, which, if you had left 
it to time, would have developed! You have 
yourself broken the bond that united us; you 
have failed to put confidence in me.” 

While I spoke, Annouchka leaned forward 


94 ANNOUCHKA, 


more and more. — Suddenly she fell upon her 
knees, hid her face in her hands, and began to 
sob. I ran to her, I attempted to raise her, but 
she resisted obstinately. 

Woman’s tears thoroughly upset me. I cried 
out to her:— 

“ Anna Nicolaévna! Annouchka, — pray, for 
heaven’s sake,— calm yourself,—I beseech you.” 

And I took her hand in mine. 

But at the moment when I least expected it, 
she suddenly arose, then, like a flash, ran to- 
wards the door and disappeared. 

Dame Louise, who entered the room a few 
moments later, found me in the same place, as 
if struck by a thunderbolt. 

I could not understand how this interview 
could have ended so abruptly, and in such a 
ridiculous manner, before I had expressed a 
hundredth part of what I had to say; before I 
even could foresee what the consequences of 
it were. 

“Mademoiselle has gone?” Dame Louise 
asked me, raising her yellow eyebrows. 

I looked at her with a stupefied air, and left. 


XVII. 


I paAssED through the town and walked 
straight ahead to the fields. A feeling of 
vexed disappointment filled my heart. I loaded 
myself with reproaches. Why did I not ap- 
preciate the motive that had induced this 
young girl to change the place of our meet 
ing? Why did I not appreciate how hard it 
would be for her to go to this old woman’s 
house? Why, finally, did I not stay away? 

Alone with her in that dark, isolated room, 
I had had the courage to thrust her away, and 
to remonstrate with her; and, now her image 
pursued me, I asked her pardon—her pale 
face, her eyes timid and full of tears; her hair 
in disorder, flowing over her bended neck; the 
touch of her forehead as it rested upon my 
breast ; all these remembrances made me be- 
side myself, and I thought I still heard her 
murmuring, “I am yours!” 

I reflected: I have obeyed the voice of my 
conscience. — But no? it was false! for, most 

95 


96 ANNOUCHKA. 


certainly, I should never have wished in my 
heart for such a dénxouement.— And, then, to 
be separated from her, to live without her, 
shall I have the strength ?— “ Fool! miserable 
fool that I am!” I cried angrily. 

In the meantime night was approaching. I 
directed my hurried steps towards the dwelling 
of Annouchka. 


XVIII. 


GAGUINE came out to meet me. 

“Have you seen my sister?” he cried, from a 
distance. 

“She is not at home then?” I asked him. 

No.” 

“Not returned?” 

ONO.) 

“No, — but I have something to confess,” 
continued he: “in spite of the promise I made 
you, I couldn’t help going to the chapel. I 
didn’t find her there. Did she not go there, 
tren ?”’ 

“No, not to the chapel.” 

“And you have not seen her?” 

I was obliged to admit that I had seen her. 

“Where then?” 

“At Dame Louise’s. —I left her about an 
hour ago; I thought she was about to return.” 

“We will wait for her,’ Gaguine said to me. 

We entered the house, and I sat down beside 
him. We were silent ; a painful constraint was 

97 


98 ANNOUCHKA. 


on us both. On the alert for the least sound, 
sometimes we looked at each other stealthily, 
sometimes we cast our eyes upon the door. 

“‘T can stay here no longer !”’ said he, rising; 
“she will kill me with anxiety. Come, let us 
look for her.” 

Ves Met wsido:son 

We went out; it was already night. 

“Come, tell me what happened,” demanded 
Gaguine, drawing his hat over his eyes. 

“Our interview lasted but five minutes at the 
utmost, and I spoke to her as we agreed upon.” 

“Do you know,” said he, “I think we had 
better separate. Let us look for her each on 
his own responsibility ; that is the quicker way 
to find her; but in any case return to the house 
in an hour.” . 


XIX. 


_ I wasTENeED down the path that passed through 
the vineyards and entered the town ; after hurry- 
ing through all the streets and looking in every 
direction, even at Dame Louise’s windows, I 
came back to the Rhine, and ran along the 
river bank. Here and there was a figure of a 
woman, but none of them Annouchka’s. It 
was no longer vexation that consumed me, but 
a secret terror; still more it was repentance 
that I felt, boundless pity, finally love —yes, 
the deepest love. I threw my arms about; I 
called Annouchka; at first, as the shades of 
night were deepening, in a low voice, then 
louder and louder ; I repeated a hundred times 
that I loved her, swearing never to leave her ; 
I would have given all that I possessed to press 
once more her cold hand, to hear once more her 
timid voice, to see her once more before me. 
She had been so near me; she had come to me 
with such resolution, in all the frankness of her 
heart ; she had brought me her young life, her 
99 


100 ANNOUCHKA. 


purity, — and I did not take her in my arms; I 
had foregone the happiness of seeing her sweet 
face brighten. — The thought drove me mad! 

““Where can she have gone? what could she 
have done?” I cried, in the impotent rage of 
despair. 

Something whitish suddenly appeared at the 
edge of the water. I recognized the place. 
There, above the grave of a man who drowned 
himself seventy years before, arose a stone 
cross, half sunken in the ground, covered with 
characters almost illegible. My heart was beat- 
ing as though it would break. The white figure 
had disappeared. 

« Annouchka,” I cried, in such a fierce voice, 
that I even frightened myself. 

But no one answered ; I finally decided to go 
and find out whether Gaguine had not found 
her. 


XX. 


QUICKLY going up the vineyard road, I per- 
ceived a light in Annouchka’s room. This sight 
calmed me a little. I approached the house; 
the entrance door was closed. I knocked. A 
window that had no light opened softly in the 
lower story, and Gaguine thrust out his head. 

“You have found her?” I asked him. 

“She has returned,” he answered in a low 
voice. ‘She is in her room and is going to 
bed. All is for the best.” 

“God be praised!” I cried, in a paroxysm of 
indescribable joy. ‘God be praised! Then 
everything is all right; but you know we have 
not had our talk together.” 

“Not now,” he answered, half closing the 
window; “another time. In the meanwhile, 
farewell!” 

“To-morrow,” I said, “ to-morrow will decide 
everything.” 

“ Farewell,” repeated Gaguine. 


The window closed. 
Io! 


102 ANNOUCHKA. 


I was upon the point of knocking at it, —I 
wished to speak to Gaguine one instant longer, 
to ask his sister's hand,—but a proposal of 
marriage at such an hour! ‘ To-morrow,” I 
thought, ‘to-morrow I shall be happy.” 

Happiness has no to-morrow; it has no yes- 
terday ; it remembers not the past; it has no 
thought of the future; it knows only the pres- 
ent, and yet this present is not a day, but an 
instant. 

I know not how I returned to Z.— It was not 
my legs that carried me, it was not a boat that 
took me to the other side; I was wafted along, 
so to speak, by strong, large wings. 

I passed a thicket where a nightingale was 
singing. I stopped, listened a long time; it 
seemed to be singing of my love and my hap- 
piness. 


XXI. 


THE next morning, on approaching the white 
house, I was astonished to see the windows 
open, also the entrance door. Some pieces of 
paper were scattered about the threshold; a 
servant, her broom in her hand, appeared at the 
door. I approached her. 

“ They have gone!” she exclaimed, before I 
could ask whether Gaguine were at home. 

““Gone!”’ I repeated ; “ how is that? Where 
have they gone?” 

“They went this morning at six o’clock, and 


did not say where they were going. But are 
? ” 





you not Monsieur N 

Ses. 

“Very well! my mistress has a letter for 
you.” 

She went upstairs, and came back with a let- 
ter in her hand. 

“Here it is,” said she. 

“You must be mistaken, it’s impossible!” I 
stammered. 

103 


104 ANNOUCHKA. 


The servant looked at me vacantly, and began 
to sweep. 

I opened the letter; it was from Gaguine. 
Not a line from Annouchka ! 

In beginning, he begged me to forgive him 
for this hasty departure. He added that when 
I was calmer I would approve, no doubt, 
of his determination. It was the only means 
of getting out of an embarrassing position, 
and one that might become dangerous. 

“Yesterday evening,” he said to me, “ while 
we were waiting for Annouchka in silence, I 
was convinced of the necessity of a separation. _ 
There are prejudices that I respect; I can 
understand that you could not marry her. She 
has told me all, and for her sake I must yield 
to her urgent entreaties.” | 

At the end of his letter he expressed regret 
at the breaking off of our friendly intercourse 
so soon; hoped that I would always be happy ; 
pressed my hand, and begged me not to try and 
meet them again. 

“ A question of prejudices indeed!” I ex- 
claimed, as if he could hear me. “Folly all 
that! What right has he to take her away 
from me?” TI clutched my head wildly. 


ANNOUCHKA. 105 


The servant began to scream for her mistress, 
and her fright brought me to my senses, I felt 
that I had but one object: to find them again ; 
to find them again at any cost. To bear such 
a blow; to resign myself; to see things end 
in this way was truly beyond my strength! I 
learned from the landlady that they went at six 
o'clock to take the steamboat down the Rhine. 
I went to the office; they told me that they 
had taken places for Cologne. I returned to 
my house to pack up and immediately follow 
them. 

As I passed Dame Louise’s house I heard 
some one call me. I raised my head and per- 
ceived the burgomaster’s widow at the window of 
the room where the previous evening I had seen 
Annouchka. Upon her lips hovered that dis- 
agreeable smile that I had noticed before. She 
beckoned to me. I turned away, and was about 
to go on, but she called out that she had some- 
thing to give me. These words stopped me, 
and I entered the house. How can I express 
to you my emotion, when I found myself again 
in that little room. 

“To tell the truth,” began the old woman, 


106 ANNOUCHKA. 


showing me a note, “I should only have given 
you this if you had come to my house of your 
own accord; but you are such a fine young man 
—there!” 

I took the note; I read upon a little piece of 
paper the following lines, traced in haste with 
a pencil : — 

“Farewell! we shall see each other no more. 
It is not through pride that I go away; I can- 
not do otherwise. Yesterday, when I wept 
before you, if you had said to me but one word, 
a single word, I would have remained. You did 
not say it.— Who knows? Perhaps it is for the 
best that it is so. Farewell forever!” 

She had expected but “oxe word!” Fool 
that I was! That word I said the previous 
evening again and again with many tears; I 
threw it to the wind; I cried it out in the midst 
of lonely fields: but I did not say it to her; I 
did not tell her that I loved her! Yes, it was 
then impossible for me to pronounce that word. 
In this fatal room, where I found myself face to 
face with her, I was not yet fully conscious of 
my love; it did not awaken even then, when 
in a dull and gloomy silence I stood near her 


ee. 


ANNOUCHKA. 107 


brother, —it only burst forth, sudden and irre- 
sistible, a few moments after, when, terrified 
by the thought of a misfortune, I began to 
seek her, calling aloud; but then already it 
was too late!—JIt is impossible, they will tell 
me ;—I know not if it is impossible, but I know 
that it was so. Annouchka would not have 


gone if she had had the least coquetry, if she 


had not found herself in an essentially false 
position. An uncertain position that any other 
woman would have accepted she found intoler- 
ale. This did not occur to me. My evil 
genius, then, at my last interview with Gaguine, 
under his dark window, had checked that con- 
fession which was upon my lips, and thus the 
last thread that I could have seized had broken 
in my hands. 

I returned the same day to L. with my traps, 
and started for Cologne. I often remember that 
at the moment when the steamboat left the 
shore, and when I said farewell to all those 
streets, to all those places that I should never 
forget, I perceived Hannchen, the little servant- 
maid. 

She was seated upon a bench near the river 


108 ANNOUCHKA. 


bank: though yet pale, her face was no longer 
sorrowful. A handsome young fellow was by 
her side and laughing with her, whilst at the 
other side of the Rhine my little Madonna, con- 
cealed in the dark foliage of the old ash, followed 
me sadly with her glance. 


XXII. 


At Cologne I again came upon the track of 
Gaguine and his sister. I learned that they had 
gone to London. I immediately went to that 
city ; all researches that I made there were in 
vain. Fora long time I did not allow myself to 
be discouraged ; for a long time I showed obsti- 
nate persistence, but finally was obliged to give 
up all hope of meeting them again. 

I never saw them again! I never again saw 
Annouchka!— Later I heard some quite vague 
rumors of her brother; but as to her I have 
never heard her spoken of; I do not even know 
if she still lives. 

Some years ago, while travelling, I caught 
sight for an instant, at the door of a railway- 
carriage, of a woman whose face had a little 
resemblance to those features that I shall 
never forget ; but this resemblance was doubt- 
less the result of chance. Annouchka lived in 
my memory as the young girl whom I saw at 
our last interview, pale and trembling, leaning 

109 


IIo ANNOUCHKA, 


upon the back of a wooden chair in the dark 
corner of a lonely room. 

Besides, I must confess that the course of 
my grief was not of long duration. Soon I per- 
suaded myself that fate had been favorable to 
me in preventing my marriage with her, and 
that a woman with such a disposition would cer- 
tainly not make me happy. I was still young 
at this period, and that time so short and limited 
that they call the future appeared to me infinite. 
“That which has happened once to me upon my 
travels,” I said to myself, “can I not meet it 
again, more charming and more delightful?” 
Since then I have known other women; but that 
feeling so tender that Annouchka had once awak- 
ened was never again aroused. No—no glance 
has ever replaced the glance of those eyes fas- 
tened upon mine; I have never again clasped to 
my breast a heart to whose throbbing mine has 
responded with an ecstacy so joyful. Con- 
demned to the solitary existence of a wandering 
man, without a home, I regard those days the 
saddest of my life; but I still preserve as a 
relic two little notes and a withered sprig of 
geranium that she once threw me from the 


ANNOUCHKA, III 


window; it breathes even now a slight flagrance, 
whilst the hand that gave it to me, that hand 
that I pressed upon my lips only once, has, per- 
haps, long since returned to dust. And I, what 
have I become? What is there left in me of 
the man of former days, of the restlessness of 
youth, of my plans, of my ambitious hopes ? — 
Thus the slight perfume of a blade of grass 
outlives all joys, all human griefs,— outlives 
even man himself. 


any 
em 





By THE AuTHOR OF “THE GREEN HAND” 


N \" Te igi 





The Deserted Ship. 


A STORY OF THE ATLANTIC. 
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Bright and full of fun. — Bostox Globe. 


Graceful in fancy, and bright in wit and spirit. The author’s drollery is irresistible, 
and we should think young ladies would enjoy the book as much as the beings of the 
opposite sex. — Quebec Chronicle, 


The author is anonymous— as usual, now-a-days — but he is known as one of the 
foremost of a band of clever young writers. — Springfield Republican. 


Writes always like a gentleman. — WV. Y. Maz?. 

The volume is of a high order. — Boston Herald. 

Suggests Hood at his best. — Boston Fournal. 

@ne of the most charming of Summer books. — St. Louzs Globe-Democrat. 


Written in the approved modern Vers de Soczetie style, with a singular mixture 
of wit and deep feeling. Many of the verses would not be disowned by Praed, the 
master-genis of witty verse, or by Calverly, who wrote ‘ Fly Leaves,” a few 
years back. — Boston Advertiser. 


Bret Harte created quite a sensation in London society by reading these verses in 
manuscript. — WV. Y. Pub. Weekly. 


The books contain some of the lightest and brightest bits of verse it has lately been 
our good fortune to read. — The Critic. 


| \\/HENGE, Wuat, WHERE? 


A VIEW OF THE ORIGIN, NATURE, AND 
DESTINY OF MAN. 


BY 
JAMES R. NICHOLS, M.D., A.M. 





1 Volume. r2mo. 198 Pages. Cloth, gilt. Mailed, postage paid, om 
receipt of price, $1.00. 


CUPPLES, UPHAM & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 





EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES BY THE PRESS. 


From Forney's Philadelphia Press. 


“Dr. Nichols’ essays will be found stimulating reading. No one can 
take up the book without feeling the inclination to read further and to 
ponder on the all-important subjecvs which they present. Though it is 
not a religious book in the technical sense of the word, it is a book which 
calls for the exercise of the religious nature, and it is a book which in 
diffusing many sensible ideas will be good.” 


From Boston Commonwealth. 


“The great value of the little book, ‘Whence, What, Where?’ by 
Dr. James R. Nichols, is in its suggestiveness. It is eminently provoca- 
tive of thought. Its value is not to be tested byits bulk. It is full of 
clear thinking, and of accurate statement. Dr. Nichols is severely sci- 
entific, and, at the same time, devoutly spiritual. Its philosophy is 
largely that of Swedenborg, without Swedenborg’s terrible diffusiveness. 
We have in it, concisely and clearly stated, all that the strictest sci- 
entific research warrants us in believing of man’s origin, nature, and 
spiritual destiny. Science is shown to be not necessarily opposed to 
religion and to spirituality.” 

From Boston Christian Register. 

““The book is written in a clear style, and the author’s opinions are 

readily understood. It is refreshing to have such a work from ascientific 


layman, on topics which too many treat with a supercilious disdain, 
unbecoming both themselves and the subject.” 


From Boston Congregationalist. 

“The topics discussed are handled with a good degree of candor, and 
give in a small space much interesting information and perhaps some 
profitable speculation.” 

From the Lowell Mail. 


‘‘Tts truths may be received as a new revelation from whrea consolation 
and happiness may be derived by those who have been troubled with 
doubts and misgivings.” 














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